Page 72 of The Clinch
I wait for the usual follow-up. The hand closing. The insistence.
It doesn’t come.
He stops beside me, close enough that I can feel the space between us, far enough that he’s still giving me room.
Another wave slides in, and I let it soak my feet, let the cold anchor me.
“Walk with me,” he says simply.
Movement instead of pressure.
“Where?” The word comes out thinner than I want.
“Atlantique.” His tone stays light, like this is nothing. Like he didn’t just fall apart under my hands. “Ten minutes.”
Ten minutes, and I can come right back. Earbuds in. Distance restored.
It feels safe. I lift my chin a fraction. “Okay.”
Leo holds out his hand like I’m the one in charge of the next move.
I stare at it, because the simplicity of it unsettles me more than pressure would. Then I lace my fingers through his.
Public choice. Private mistake.
We start down the shoreline, the tide sliding in and out with lazy insistence. The air smells like salt and sunscreen and grilled food drifting from somewhere farther up the beach.
Leo keeps the pace easy.
Ahead, wooden stairs rise out of the sand, leading up to the boardwalk. Leo takes the steps first and pulls me up behind him.
The second our feet hit the planks, the world changes.
Noise. Music. Laughter.
The boardwalk is a parade of bare skin and string ties, linen tossed over swimsuits like an afterthought. Kids running sticky and fearless. String lights already on even though the sun hasn’t dipped.
We cut toward the stand with the lights and the clatter of bottles. An older man behind the counter looks up, sees Leo, and breaks into a grin.
“Leo!” he calls, stepping out. Sun-weathered, familiar. “There you are.”
Leo smiles. “Hey, Sal.”
Sal’s eyes drop to our joined hands, then up to my face. His grin widens.
“Well, I’ll be damned. That’s your girl. I recognize you from the news.”
“Hi,” I say.
Sal claps his hands once. “Congratulations. Seriously. You two are everywhere.” He points at Leo. “And you cleaned up.”
Leo’s mouth shifts. “It’s the sunscreen.”
Sal’s eyes sparkle. “Oh, it’s sunscreen now. Sure.”
My face gives me up before I can stop it.
“Two beers,” Leo tells Sal. “And a Sour Patch.”
